Duty of a King
by Vane Alasse
Summary: A father's final words, a mother's grief, a lordless kingdom, and the lovely daughter of a steward all become part of one young man's quest to discover the true duty of a king. Can Aragon's son, Eldarion, manage the challenge? Please R&R!
1. Starlit Evening

Author Note: 

WARNING: This chapter is a bit sappy. Following chapters are less so. If you think it's any good, please write me a review! I wrote it mainly to satisfy a fluffy-romantic swing in my emotions – so it might not make sense to anyone else (if there is any sense to be found by anyone at all anyway…).

TO EVERYONE: Enjoy! And please review!

AND NOW...ON TO THE STORY!

* * *

Chapter One  
Starlit Evening 

"Do you see the stars, Theodwyn?"

"How could I not?"

"They were made for you," he said.

"Eldarion! I'm surprised at you! The whole world was made for me," she replied, laughing softly.

He smiled. "Of course."

She was looking far into the distance, at the stars and the Gondorian landscape.

He was looking at her.

She was sitting on the stone bench of the balcony. Her arms lay on the ancient railing and her cheek fell against the back of her hands. How long ago, he pondered silently, had the little girl become a woman? Her soft complexion was slightly flushed, and every now and then her face became lost behind her free-falling golden hair, blowing in the evening breeze. Her eyes, so innocent, reflected the shining stars in the sky above her. She did not know she was this lovely. That was what made her so beautiful.

"What are you thinking of?" she asked without turning.

He shifted his weight uncomfortably where he stood, leaning against the banister. Her frankness and informality had never troubled him; they were cousins of a sort, and he did not mind when she addressed him so carelessly. But he did not tell her what was on his mind; that would be folly. He had tried before, about a year ago, but she had quickly interrupted him and thrown away the compliments. So it was better not to say anything.

"Did you enjoy supper?" she asked presently.

"Indeed," he replied. "And you?"

"Not entirely. I thought your father seemed rather gloomy. I hate to see him that way."

"My father?"

She turned her eyes to his in answer.

"I did not notice," he said. Surely he had not, for she had been there and that was where his attention had been placed.

She looked away again. "You should notice these things; you should ask him what is wrong."

"Theodwyn," he pleaded. "You know I spend every day with him all day, mind you. It is my duty to be with him."

"Duty, yes. Pleasure? No, don't interrupt me! Please be a gentleman. I know you love your father, but I find it strange that you do not see when he is ailing."

How could he reply to that? He did not know. He felt a strong impulse to take her hand and gather her into his arms perhaps that would be answer enough. But he did not. She would not like it.

She looked so tame, this child of Ithilien, yet he knew where her heart belonged. Not to any one person; no indeed, was that even possible? She had a spirit like her mother's: wild, boundless, fearless. Her love was for open plains and blowing wind and singing grasses. She belonged in the air, as a spirit, or on a horse, as a warrior.

And yet, somehow she had also inherited the stately grace of the steward's house: poise, wit, gentleness. If one did not know her they would think her perfectly at home inside the stately halls of the king. For she seemed so perfect there, too. He loved to hear her soft footsteps echo in the stone corridors and to see her stand by her father's side as she greeted ambassadors and princes. There was no place she did not seem born to belong.

If only she could understand his feelings; if only she could open her mind and her heart for him. But he could not ask that of her at least not here, not now. Maybe he would inquire later. When would be too late? He must bear his soul sometime. The thought of wishing her joy at a marriage ceremony not also his own was painful. How could he watch her ride away to some far away land, never to see her again? What if her laughter rang in another's halls, far from his hearing?

He comforted himself with the knowledge that at present there was no danger of this. She was not his, but neither did she belong to anyone else.

"Eldarion?" she murmured.

"Theodwyn?" he answered, taking a step nearer.

"Do you not wonder how the stars were made?"

He smiled. "I rather wonder how you were made, and it is almost the same."

"How?"

"You sparkle when you smile and you grace the world like a glittering light."

"And you lack the words of a true poet, son of the elves!" she laughed, rising. "But I love you all the same."

She offered her hand; he took it and gently pressed it in his own. He knew what she meant: she loved him as a relative, as a friend.

She bade him good-night, and he watched her walk away, past the columns of the palace, through the flowers, until her star-lit form vanished into the shadows of the night. He faintly heard the palace door thud to a close.

He sighed. If only

"My lord," said a voice.

Eldarion turned to see a guard arriving, and straightened his posture.

"The king summons you, my lord," he said.

Eldarion nodded and walked resolutely to the palace doors. Duty called.


	2. The Call of Duty

Chapter Two  
The Call of Duty

**

* * *

**  
It wasn't that Eldarion didn't want to see his father; on the contrary, he loved any excuse to spend time with him. But he felt this conversation would divuldge merely the tactics of conduct to be executed the next day when the party form Dol Amroth arrived, or some other such dry discussion. His mind was still floating with intoxicating happiness from speaking with Theodwyn, and he hesitated to use the part of his brain which was drilled in military and lordly behavior. Love hates distractions.  
  
He expected to find his father in the throne room, but as he passed through the halls he saw him looking intently at a tapestry. It depicted Elendil and his sons sailing through storm and caos to reach the sanctuary of Middle-earth. King Elessar had always liked this scene best.  
  
"Ada?" Eldarion asked.  
  
Aragorn turned. "Ah. I'm glad you could come. I did not disturb you, I hope?"  
  
Eldarion shook his head.  
  
"How is Theodwyn?" Aragorn asked playfully.  
  
"Lovely, as always," Eldarion replied.  
  
"Good, good." Aragorn looked at his son with his keen eyes, proud of him and happy for him; youth has a vivacity that is so pleasing to behold. Love does as well, and the combination of them forms an irresistible charm.  
  
Then Aragorn's mood turned serious, and the lines of his face seemed graver and more aged than Eldarion had ever seen them.  
  
"I have things which I must speak with you about."  
  
"Yes?" he asked, still expecting a mundane report of the condition of the army or the correspondence with another dignitary.  
  
Aragorn began walking and Eldarion fell in at his side.  
  
"You know it is given to the heirs of Elendil the blessing of long life, far longer than other men. I have told you this many times, yes? Good."  
  
He paused, seeming timid to continue. Then he sighed.  
  
"I am grown old, my son. The weight of all these years hangs on me like a cloak of fulfillment; I have lived long and have lived a fruitful life. Many battles, many struggles, many obstacles I have overcome. And rewards, too, have been great. How many days have I lived here since the destruction of the Ring? Countless thousands. More than a century I have stood before these people, they have been born and passed away during my reign. And now, now I grow not weary of my post, but I feel I have had my fair share of it."  
  
"Ada! You cannot mean you are thinking of -- of leaving! Of death..."  
  
"But you put it so harshly, Eldarion! Death is not to be feared, it is not a hardship. It is a gift to men, do you not remember?"  
  
Eldarion was silent.  
  
"It is selfish for me not to think of it. Would that I stayed yet longer I would deprive the country of my full leadership, for I will grow feeble. Even now I feel the strain of time begin to pull on me. How can I govern these people without my full capabilities? And you, my son, how can I keep the crown from you? It would be selfish of me."  
  
"I am not ready to govern a people so vast as your own. They love you; they will not follow me the same way. They respect you; I have no renown."  
  
"Is there no renown in being the son of Evenstar and a descendant of Isildur? Is there no renown in lineage?"  
  
"In lineage, yes. But it means naught if I have not inherited the gifts you and Naneth are known for."  
  
"Indeed, you have, though you cannot see them. Many gifts you possess and more. You were born to be a king and it is in your blood to rule, and to rule justly and well. I must allow you the honor and position you deserve."  
  
Aragorn waited for an response, but none came.  
  
"I have decided to leave this life and pass beyond the sea."  
  
"But Ada --"  
  
"Why should I stay?" Aragorn asked gently.  
  
"I don't want to loose you. I need you. We all need you. And Naneth --"  
  
"She knew of my fate before she married me. She can bear it, as can you. I am not of value so great that your life will not be worthwhile without me."  
  
Eldarion's face was grave. "When do you plan to do this?"  
  
"Soon. I will tell you more tomorrow. Now go, sleep; you look weary."  
  
"Only because your words grieve me."  
  
"Grieve then, but not overmuch. Let these last days together be less sorrowful than if otherwise I waited for the decay of time. And also, Theodwyn would not like to see you so cast down."  
  
"She cares not for me."  
  
"Do not be so hasty to delcare what a woman does not feel. That is often the most difficult emotion to judge."  
  
Eldarion smiled, the thought was mildly pleasing. That was just like his father: bringing forward a point of view not readily seen by everyone, often for their comfort or enjoyment.  
  
"Oh, Ada? What will we do without you?"  
  
"You will live. That is all any of us can do. Greatness does not come by searching for it, and neither does happiness. You will find both on the road of duty."


	3. Tears

Chapter Three  
Tears

* * *

"Celebrian, have you seen my shawl? I know I lied it here yesterday, right on this very place. For I told myself I would leave it on the chest beside my sewing, knowing full well I would want them at the same time. And now, well, now it is not here. Have you seen it?"  
  
"First of all, you did not 'lied' it there, you laid it there. And secondly, I find it difficult to believe you did either since it no longer occupies that position."  
  
"I did not ask you for a grammar lesson, sister. I merely inquired if you knew the whereabouts of an article of clothing."  
  
"I haven't seen it."  
  
"That isn't very helpful."  
  
"I don't feel in a helpful mood at preset, Gilraen. Go find Luthien and ask her."  
  
"She has already gone out; I saw her leave. The Lord Barahir's son is here, you know, and she said they were going down to the river today."  
  
"The Lord Barahir's son? Luthien and Barahir's son? Which one?"  
  
"The youngest one, and you must be perfectly blind if you did not know they are in love."  
  
"Indeed, I must be blind! How long has this been afoot?"  
  
"Weeks? Months? I don't know. If I had ever had my own romance I suppose I would snoop a little more into her's, but I haven't so I don't."  
  
"By the stars! It is hard to imagine. And she is so young."  
  
"Celebrian, she is one and twenty. Merely because she is six years younger than yourself does not make her so terribly inferior. Do you consider me 'so young' also?"  
  
"No, dear. We are so close in age that I hardly notice a difference at all. But Luthien has always been the baby, and now -- it is hard to explain."  
  
"Yes, I know what you mean. At least, I think I do. Well, no matter, the Prince of Dol Amroth is coming today. I expect to stand by and watch him sweep you off your feet."  
  
"Gilraen! I protest!"  
  
"Why? I think it will be rather an amusing spectacle. I'll be sure to bring my sketch book and --"  
  
"Gilraen!"  
  
"Oh, Clebby! I found my shawl! Look! It was inside my chest the whole time! How silly of me..."  
  
Eldarion sat slumped beside his window with sore eyes and an aching head. The voices of his sisters were carried on the breeze to where he sat. Though he heard them he did not really comprehend what they were discussing; he was thinking of his father's words.  
  
He had not slept at all. The strangest form of grief was claiming him, that of knowing what was about to take place and dreading it immensely. It was as if he had been given the chance to look into the future, and the future was a nightmare.  
  
He noticed subconsciously that the chatter of his sisters had ended. They had probably gone out of the palace to enjoy the sunlight day; they did not yet know of the approaching night.  
  
A knock on the door startled him.  
  
"Eldarion?" asked a muffled voice. "Are you there? May we come in?"  
  
He gave his consent.  
  
The door opened and the faces of his sisters appeared. Gilraen had tears in her eyes.  
  
"Ada just came to speak with us. Has he spoken to you?" Celebrian asked. He nodded.  
  
Gilraen ran to her brother and collapsed into his arms, beginning to weep violently. "He cannot go away! I don't want him to go!"  
  
Celebrian, more composed, walked to the window and sat down beside them. "When did he tell you?"  
  
"Last night," he replied. His voice sounded scratchy. He cleared his throat.  
  
"Why must he go?" Gilraen moaned.  
  
Eldarion did not know what to say. He had not expected to be put in the position on counselor and comforter. He did not know, as he should have known, that his sisters' first instinct would be to turn to him for strength. They had always done so before, yet he wondered why they did not go to their mother instead. He asked them.  
  
"Ada said not to trouble Naneth at present, that she will have enough burdens on her mind. You were closer, anyway," replied Celebrian.  
  
"And you always understand Ada best," Gilraen said, choking a little on her tears. "We thought you would know why."  
  
Eldarion did not understand his father's reasons; they did not seem like real reasons at all to him.  
  
He managed to ask where Luthien was. Celebrian told him, them fell into silence. The whole room throbbed with an intense stillness, and Eldarion felt locked in time. The form of his sister quivered in his arms and his heart beat at an uncomfortable volume.  
  
"We'll get through this," he said with effort.  
  
Both sisters turned their eyes to his, perplexed, tear-brimmed, and full of sadness. Their glances were so painful to him that Eldarion shut his own eyes, hoping beyond hope that blindness would release him from his present turmoil. But it didn't. 


	4. Farewells

Chapter Four

Farewells

When King Elessar's closest friends and relatives, as well as other important head of state, had been notified of his intentions the palace fell into a state of quiet gloom.

The evening the steward's family was informed Tirion and Thalion promptly came to Eldarion's side to offer their condolences, adding their certainty of Eldarion's imminent success as king. Eldarion was polite and thanked them, then replaced his attention to the women on the other side of the room. Queen Arwen, Lady Eowyn, and Celebrian stood talking to one another in a calm, dignified fashion. Luthien and Gilraen were speaking with and embracing Faramir's daughters: Silwen and Theodwyn. Eldarion saw Theodwyn's face, composed, yet with sad eyes. Then she turned for a moment and looked at him, and his heart felt so heavy. Her expression was so sincere, so heartfelt, so gentle that he had to take his eyes away from it. What was meant to comfort him and sympathize with him felt like a knife in his chest. He did not usually weep, but he knew if he did not leave immediately he would begin to do so. He excused himself.

The following days came one after another, each with renewed grief and strain. The palace filled with people Eldarion did not really know, and he was required to be polite and civil to all of them. Lord Greenleaf came from the woods of Ithilien, and Gimli the dwarf from the Glittering Caves. The little people from the north arrived: hobbits of the Shire. Eldarion had seen their kind only when he was very young. They spoke with Aragorn much, recalling tales of their fathers who had traveled with him in the company of the Ring. The king was pleased with all the company. He was attitude was serene, and not overly joyful. It was clear that each moment spent with those he loved was becoming incredibly precious to him.

Then the day came when Aragorn said, "Tomorrow." He bid each of his friends, relatives, and officials one last farewell, and for the first time in his life Eldarion saw his father weep. Each tearful embrace ended with a resolute pat on the shoulder, and the comforting words, "We shall meet again."

Eldarion stood in the throne room leaning against one of the smooth columns, watching. His father's impending death seemed to him a terrible waste. There before him, before everyone, stood a man so strong, so secure, so confident, so alive. He was not lying on a sick bed whispering farewell through parched lips. No, he was on his feet, attired as a king, laughing and weeping simultaneously with his loved ones. There was no nurse, no physician present, at least none in the usual sense. But everyone could feel the presence of a healer. For as all said their good-byes they were conscious of a sense that they could carry on with life, that they would have the ability to overcome this sorrow. The ancient proverb was so true, Eldarion thought. In the hands of the king is healing.

Twilight descended. Aragorn took one long glance around the throne room, then asked everyone to leave and closed the doors behind them. He took the stairs to the corridor of the palace that was for the royal family. Eldarion followed at a distance, and then went to his own room. He sat gloomily hunched against his bookcase, wondering how he would ever make it through the night.

Screams in the room next to his startled him. He ran out immediately. The door to his sisters' room was wide open and a flood of light fell into the hall. He walked quickly to their door and peered inside. What he saw couldn't have surprised him more.

Aragorn was sitting on the bed tickling Luthien, who was shrieking with laughter. Celebrian and Gilraen were tossing pillows at their father, while giggling and talking at a velocity impossible for Eldarion to comprehend. At last Aragorn succumbed to the bombardment and pulled Luthien onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her in a tight hug. The other girls dropped the pillows and jumped onto the bed, getting as close to their father as possible and pleading for their turns. Eldarion wondered if they knew what a picture they formed: three grown girls in white nightgowns and flushed faces piled around their laughing father. He knew that if it were painted no one would know it had taken place on the eve of such great sorrow.

It was then that Aragorn looked up and saw his son standing in the hall.

"What is wrong, Eldarion? You look horrified," he said, smiling.

Eldarion shook his head in a dazed manner.

The girls motioned for him to enter, but Aragorn rose and asked them all to come with him to their family room. They did, the girls chattering with each other and Eldarion lagging behind.

Arwen was already there when they arrived, sitting on the rug before the fireplace. She smiled when they entered. Aragorn sat down beside her, and the children gathered around them.

"What are we doing, Ada?" Gilraen asked.

"We are going to talk the night away," he responded.

And they did. At first they talked of pleasant things, of memories and times gone by. Then Aragorn teased his children about their romances, and they all accepted it very well. Smiles were prevalent. Aragorn told them again the tale of how he met their mother, of their struggles and the long years of waiting before marriage. He told them of his escapades as a boy and his blunders as a man anything to make them laugh. Then they spoke of life in general, of good and evil. They discussed friends and pets, flora and fauna. They spoke of history and legend and family members long gone. Aragorn told them of the silmarils and Tenuviel and Beren, and Luthien smiled with sparkling eyes. He spoke of Elrond, Celeborn, Galadriel, and Celebrian, and he woke another daughter's happy face and the whispered words, "If only I could go to the Undying Lands." He told them of his mother and all that he had heard of his father, and Gilraen sighed contentedly, murmuring aloud her desire to meet her grandmother, as she had so many times before. He spoke of Elendil and the Faithful, of dark times for Numenor and strong men who persevered against evil. He talked of Valinor and Tol Eressa, of Earendil, of Elbereth, of Manwe, of Iluvatar. He told them of the beginning of days, of the stars, and of the seas.

Morning crept upon them slowly. At first it was a purple haze outside the windows, them it grew stronger and brighter. Yet all was still and calm and grey. No violent rays of gold fell on them.

A tap on the door made them all shift where they sat. A voice from the other side of the door announced the time to them. Aragorn thanked him. Day had come.

They all rose, stiff and sore from too many hours on the floor. They walked to the windows and looked out.

"Look, Ada. Even the sun is mourning for you. She is sad to see you leave," Gilraen said.

"It is just as well," Eldarion answered. "No one wants to see the sun today."


	5. Courage

Chapter Five  
Courage

* * *

Eldarion walked slowly up the marble steps. He had walked the same stairway the night before, but now it seemed such a difficult task. Each pace was tedious and painful, his whole being loathed the movement. Every step of his feet, resounding as a dim thud in the high ceiling above him, took him closer to his own room; it was the one refuge that had comforted him so many times before, yet seemed now a pitiful substitute for genuine human sympathy. And he was also brought, unwillingly, farther and farther from the place he longed to be, the place he knew his mother yet lingered beside – that of his father's grave.  
  
Death. The word had before carried no real meaning for him. But now, now it bore such a weight, such a terrible, gnawing resonance. It was unendurable. It was horrific. It made the little boy in him desire to crumple into a ball on the floor wailing, kicking, and screaming. It made him want to run away, to seek escape at all costs. But where would he run? And what good would escape do after all? For neither would bring him any closer to his father, and both would certainly bring harm to himself and those he loved who were yet alive.  
  
His father's last words to him trickled through his mind, "Fear not, my son, for after death there is life. And it is life as we have never experienced it: brilliant, vibrant, awake, beyond description. There no sorrow dims the horizon and tears never fall except for joy. There the weary find rest, the blind see, the aching heart is soothed. And there, Eldarion, I will wait for you. Be comforted; we will all meet again. Then there will be no more partings and no more grief, but only eternity to contemplate the meaning of real love. For there we will know the answers to all our questions and rest in the security of our High King's mercy. Be comforted in this knowledge."  
  
But Eldarion found little consolation in them. At present his own demise seemed so terribly far away that the lingering years of life bore more terror than his own death. He believed all that his father had told him, but he could not yet find courage from it. He sighed, supposing courage would come later. At least, he hoped it would.  
  
What Eldarion did not know was that courage had already been awakened in him, as the very endurance of this day had proven. For it takes bravery to walk in a funeral procession, head held high and outward appearance unwavering. It takes bravery to take the winged crown of Gondor and the scepter of Arnor from the king's hands, knowing you have just been handed a kingdom. It takes bravery to look in the eyes of one you know will soon die and then to leave the room at their request.  
  
What he remembered from the day was less positive: the flowers Gondorian's tossed noiselessly at the king's feet as he made his way to the Silent Street, the tears on the face of the little girl as she watched Elessar pass, the loud vibration of the door closing behind him and the chilling silence which followed. The fear he felt as he left the room after receiving the crown, how his hands shook and how he gripped the scepter more tightly in an effort to hide their quaking. The face of his mother: tight and tearless. The faces of his sisters: quiet and scared. He dared not imagine what his own face expressed.  
  
And then, because there is always more than one layer of sorrow, there was the strange grief brought about by watching Theodwyn. How different she looked with her pale face hidden behind a black veil and her golden hair caught up and sheltered beneath the mourning shroud. She stood beside her father in quiet submission to the occurrences around her; nothing caused her to turn her eyes where they should not be or to plead release from her station. Ever the epitome of perfection, at least in Eldarion's eyes, she was as proper and poised as any lady ought to be under such circumstances. The expression he could see on her face was little, yet it portrayed strength he had not known her to possess. She did not weep, she did not sigh, she did not give any outward appearance of grief – none that one unaccustomed to her behavior would detect. But in the way she held herself, the way she clasped her hands, the way she never smiled, the way she kept so quiet, and the way she avoided looking at him all suggested to Eldarion the pain she felt and awed him with her ability to endure it.  
  
Then came the moments of waiting in the hall, moments that stretched liked hours. His sisters were with him on one side, the steward and his family on the other, and behind them, more dignitaries, relatives, and friends. When Eldarion finally heard his mother call his name, he walked once again into the ancient chamber, the final resting place of so many kings. His father lay on a stone bed and his mother knelt beside it, her head resting on her hands and her face turned away from the door.  
  
"He is gone, Eldarion," she whispered. "Go now and tell the others."  
  
Her words were so simple, her request so plain. Yet Eldarion felt torn between obeying and running to comfort her. But he knew the latter would be beyond his ability, so he turned and left the room.  
  
He did not know how to tell them. What should he say? Could he even trust his own voice? A sickening feeling erupted in his heart, he wasn't sure he could speak at all. He needed his father – no. He must not think that. His eyes drifted to the steward, who immediately understood.  
  
"Our king has passed away," Barahir said, his voice calm and sure.  
  
Eldarion breathed a sigh of relief, not because his father was no longer living but because he did not have to speak before the assembly. Barahir tilted his head to indicate to Eldarion that he should lead them out of the hall. And then, suddenly, Barahir spoke again, this time his voice echoing against the walls.  
  
"All hail Eldarion Telcontar, King of Gondor and Arnor."  
  
It frightened Eldarion. The majestic title could not belong with his name. Surely there must be some mistake! But deep inside he knew it was correct, and he stepped forward holding both crown and scepter and lead the way out of the Silent Street.  
  
As he passed through the lines of people on either side of him they bowed their heads to him. It was unexpected. He did not truly enjoy it. And when he passed Theodwyn and her head fell also, he thought he would go mad. How he wanted to touch her chin and raise her head back to its proper position. How he wanted to look into her eyes. But he could do neither and so proceeded out of the hall, up the winding street, and into the palace.  
  
Now he had reached the top of the staircase and was walking numbly to the door of his room. He pushed it open and almost with disgust laid the symbols of his kingship down onto his desk. He did not want to look at them. He fell onto his bed, exhausted.  
  
Something small and hard was beneath his head. He sat up and turned around, annoyed. There, resting on a cape of green so dark it shone black, lay a brooch. Eldarion had seen them both before, many times, for they had belonged to his father. The pin was formed into the likeness of an eagle with outstretched wings, and in it was set a clear green stone. Eldarion clasped his hands around it, and they trembled. A little white note slipped from the folds of the cape. He picked it up and read it.  
  
For my son, Eldarion:  
  
All that is gold does not glitter;  
Not all who wander are lost.  
The old that is strong does not wither;  
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.  
  
Hope is a light in the darkness  
And courage a beacon by night;  
Truth will endure every hardship,  
And duty is better than might.  
  
With love,  
Ada  
  
Eldarion fell onto his side, and for the first time all day let himself relax. The tears fell quickly and before long he was lost in a torrent of sadness.

* * *

Author Note:  
  
Sorry it took me so long to write and post this! I had difficulty with it because I kept daydreaming ahead about Theodwyn and Eldarion, and I really didn't want to get busy and write the next drama chapter... But, anyway, here it is now. I hope you enjoyed it!  
  
Thanks for reading, and please remember to review!  
  
Vané Alasse 


	6. Currents of Life

Chapter Six  
Currents of Life

* * *

The wind caught the lush black fabric and tossed it out, unfurling the flag of the king of Gondor. The seven jewels embedded in the banner winked in the early morning sunshine, and the silvery threads of a white tree shimmered. Then the wind turned and the fabric doubled back upon itself. The glimmering was lost in folds of darkness, but then, like a whip the standard opened wide again and presented itself for all to see.  
  
Eldarion stood at the base of the flagpole silently pulling on the ropes. Hand over hand he grasped the white cord and raised the flag ever higher. For too long it had rested listlessly at half mast, but now it would be restored to its proper position of honor. The three months of mourning for King Elessar were now passed, and Eldarion had insisted on raising the flag himself. He had desired no ceremony or pomp to accompany its climb, save merely the privilege to replace it atop its tall pole himself. So none stood beside him as the flag traveled to its accustomed height and no trumpets announced its arrival. The only noticeable difference between this morning and that of the last was the absence of the tolling of bells, and Eldarion breathed a sigh of relief that they were gone.  
  
Looking up at the flag after securing its ropes, Eldarion's thoughts strayed to the past. He remembered the day his father had lifted him onto his shoulders, carried him to the flagpole, and allowed him to touch the rough cords. He had clasped his hand too tightly and a sharp splinter had embedded itself into his soft palm. The memory of it caused Eldarion to squeeze his hand into a fist and then massage the sore place with his thumb. Of course Aragorn had set his son down and, kneeling, taken the little hand in his to look for and remove the splinter.  
  
Now Eldarion stood by the flag not as a small boy, but as a grown man – as king. He wore the green cape and eagle pin, which had together become an integral part of his wardrobe. He wore them whenever possible as a sort of memorial to his father and as a comfort to himself. The folds of fabric held a fragrance that alluded to memories of carefree days and held for him a strength he could not describe. Knowing his father had worn the same attire while making critical decisions, riding over the country side, and laughing with his family somehow made his new position as king bearable.  
  
Eldarion lips formed a bitter smile. The sound of laughter had not been heard for so many days. His mother, who had always loved laughter, now resigned herself to her lonely fate with grim quietness and expressionless sadness. No one else had reason to laugh either, for they were all busy with the duties placed before them. His sisters quietly went about their business, and if they had joyful conversations he did not hear them. Those from Dol Amroth had returned home a month ago, and the hobbits, too, had departed. The elf Legolas was even now building a grey ship in Ithilien to sail from Middle-earth and across the sea.  
  
And, worst of all for Eldarion, the steward's children had returned home to Ithilien, though he had remained in the White City to aid the new king. Eldarion missed Theodwyn far more than he wished to. Just when he was determined not to think of her, he found himself doing exactly that. When he became discouraged and confused by the decisions he needed to make he would involuntarily remember her composure and steadiness, longing to possess those qualities and desiring her assistance. And when he stood alone on the balcony at night, his hands gripping the railing and his head bowed in frustration and exhaustion, he remembered how she had looked in the starlight with her hair blowing gently in the breeze. Now, as then, he longed to embrace her and feel her head against his shoulder, but when he opened his eyes and extended his hand he reached only for an apparition and the wind whispered over deserted stone.  
  
The steady pace the palace had regained was not one Eldarion particularly enjoyed. There were matters to be attended to concerning the resting place of King Elessar. A permanent stone coffin was under construction and nearly finished. The chamber was once again subject to cleaning and the beds of Master Meriadoc and Thain Peregrin were removed to their customary situation. These arrangements were difficult for Eldarion to oversee because of the strong emotional weight he still bore.  
  
Yet with time he was healing. It did not come as quickly as he desired, nor did it come the way he would have hoped for. He did not forget the pain, as he had supposed he would, but each day it became more endurable. The sadness slowly subsided to the depths of silent reflection, and his external emotions were no longer held in thralldom to his grief. Memories of old days came to him now as a gentle fragrance in summer days, or as the wind blowing on the shore of a grey beach. They made him feel comfortable, sometimes they made him smile and sometimes they drew forth a liquid film over his eyes. The hardest memories were those surrounding his father's last days and death. He tried not to think on them, for they always caused him to loose his composure.  
  
"Eldarion?"  
  
The voice startled him from reminiscence. Gilraen stood before him, her forehead creased and her eyes troubled.  
  
"What is it, sister?"  
  
"Naneth said she is going to leave the city."  
  
"Leave?"  
  
"Yes. She said she needs to be free from it, that she needs to go home."  
  
"This is not home?"  
  
"That is what I asked. She has had many homes beside this one, though I wonder if any will suffice."  
  
"You mean she cannot be content here without Ada?"  
  
Gilraen nodded.  
  
"Can any of us?" he muttered, looking at the ground.  
  
"Are we to be orphans, Eldarion?"  
  
He looked up suddenly, her voice was shaking. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. She closed her eyes and a tear slid down her cheek.  
  
"Worse things have happened," he began, but then changed his mind. He pointed to the silver ribbon glimmering far below them, the river Anduin.  
  
"Do you see the water, Gilraen? It is like our lives. For a time we all are side by side with those we love, but the current is not always steady. There are blessed shallows of contentment, but there are also rapids and whirlpools. Like the rising of the tide our lives are for an hour or a year overflowing with pleasure, and then low tide comes and we slither lifelessly around the muck. We have reached a low tide in life. Eddies take us and would drown us if we let them, but we won't. We must be strong and struggle against the suction of stronger currents, remembering that every stream leads to the sea. But we can only reach the waves of freedom through times of trial. We pass now through difficult times, but know that clearer waters await us beyond the bend."

* * *

Author Note:  
  
Okay, everyone, here's the latest chapter! I hope it's a good one...  
  
I've decided to go back and rework the names, because I do like stories to be as accurate as possible. After doing a tiny bit of research, I figured out that Theodwyn would have to be Faramir's great-granddaughter. In a Lord of the Rings genealogy we have it lists Faramir's grandson by the name Barahir, so I guess he'll become the steward now. It may take me a while to completely fix the previous chapters, so hang in with me. I'm going to put more priority on writing new chapters than revising old ones, just to let you know.  
  
Thank you all for reading, and please continue to review!  
  
Vané Alasse 


	7. Lothmelda

_Chapter Seven_

**Lothmelda  
**

* * *

**  
**

Two hands gently held the stem of a white flower. The delicate petals rustled in the warm breezes like foaming waves ripple on a churning sea. Sunlight fell against the sensitive veins of the petals, and purple shadows played between the dancing flickers of light.

Eldarion twirled the flower around slowly, watching it change attitude slightly from one side to the other. A green leaf brushed the back of his hand, and for a moment he suppressed a laugh. If only his father could know his thoughts at that moment, he would surely laugh wholeheartedly.

The tensions of state had relaxed, and the pain of both his father and mother's parting had lessened with the steady roll of days. Heartache could now find solace in memories and slowly fade away; it would become an undercurrent of daily life. Now there was time to relearn emotions that had been shoved aside. Now the dust could be scrapped from cases filled with passions, hopes, and dreams.

She had returned.

That was all that need be said. Though such a simple sentence, he found such pleasure in repeating it to himself continually. He even allowed himself the thrill of saying it aloud once. No one had heard him; his shaking voice was barely a whisper to echo against the walls of his room. Only the flower was witness to his trivial glee.

This little flower had become a symbol to him. It signified that virtue which he did not allow himself to call by its true name: love. It had long been tradition among the Gondorians, and before them the Numenoreans, that a young man in love would leave one blossom of the creamy white lothmelda on the windowsill of the young lady he admired. If she returned his affections, she would accept the flower. If she dearly cared for him, then she would pin it to the collar of her gown and wear it as a sign of her devotion to him.

Eldarion often found himself enveloped in his own thoughts. Since boyhood he had been introverted; always thinking, always watching, always aware. He was afraid to call himself emotional, yet he was. But now he found it difficult to grasp his own emotions. He was embarrassed with himself for his romantic swing of thought.

Yet it could not be cured. As much as he had always longed to avoid it, he now found himself thinking of the white blossom with twitching nervousness and eagerness. He held one young lady in respect above all others, and he wished her to know how he felt. Frivolous childhood promises sworn to friends with shaggy brown hair and dirt streaked faces now screamed for freedom. He had promised he would never fall victim to a maiden, nor would he ever so much as pluck a white bloom. Now he had cut both chains, and all that wanted was the courage to declare his passion.

He had faltered, though, in the action of carrying out his purpose. For days, no weeks, he had desired to clearly explain his position to her, yet he wavered. He had remembered the lothmelda only the day before, and now it presented a simpler form of expression.

He drew a deep breath. He was tired of being shy. He was tired of being held back by his own lack of courage. He rose suddenly, and resolutely left his room, flower in hand. With steady, quiet steps he walked through the halls of the palace, until at last he reached the wing where the steward's family was residing.

It was only then that Eldarion realized a difficulty in his endeavor. Her room had no window that he could reach. Taken aback somewhat, he stood in the white hall, perplexed. He glanced around nervously, breathing quickly. If he had been much younger, the attitude he now adopted unconsciously was one that a small boy possesses after sneaking a cookie from the kitchen. He felt that he was intruding on ground not his own, that he had taken something which did not belong to him.

This phase passed, though, as soon as he thought of leaving without accomplishing his purpose. That was not an option anymore. It had taken so much to get this far, and now he would not turn back. He had stood on the cliff for so long, and now he had taken the fateful step over the edge. He was plunging into a new world, and no amount of grasping at air would halt his fall or carry him back to the old familiarity and security of the plateau.

Desperate, he began to twirl the flower in his fingers again. His hands shook slightly, and the blossom slipped from his grasp. Time slowed, and he watched it fall for what seemed to be years. At last it hit the cold floor, and after bouncing once rested and was still.

Then it occurred to him. He smiled. It was too simple!

He picked up the lothmelda and carried it to the door of her room. He glanced over his shoulder to assure himself that no one was watching. Then he awkwardly kissed a petal, and laid the bloom gently before her door. He turned, his heart beating far too quickly, and strode resolutely away.

Hours later he sat on the balcony outside his sisters' room. Gilraen sat across from him on the ground, her skirt spread around her in a soft circle. Her fingers worked skillfully at her sewing. Eldarion sat with his back to the railing, his sword on the ground by his side and an open book in his hands. He was not reading, but at least, he reasoned, he appeared to be occupied and not daydreaming. It was a shallow shield; it is very possible his apparently oblivious sister perceived correctly the distant shine and curious question in his eyes.

Suddenly Luthien flew onto the porch. Her face was brilliant, and both brother and sister looked at her expectantly. Luthien was known for bringing them entertaining, if perhaps not authentic, bits of gossip. The look on her face and the fluttery carriage of her self caused them to suspect some such display of knowledge. They were not disappointed.

"You will never believe it!" she giggled.

Eldarion repressed a desire to roll his eyes, but chose rather to smile and cock his head questioningly.

"Yes?" Gilraen asked calmly.

"Theodwyn has a lover!"

Eldarion bit his lip and clenched his hand on the book. Gilraen was not effected.

"Well? Say something!" Luthien shrieked.

Gilraen cared not for the news, but found her sister's excitement to be humorous.

"Who, may I inquire, is this suitor of the steward's daughter?" she asked politely

Eldarion swallowed nervously.

"She said she is not sure, but I don't believe her. She walks around with a spring in her step and a smile on her face, and her eyes say more than her mouth. She is obviously very pleased by the situation."

"How did you discover this, sister?" asked Gilraen.

"I happened to walk past her room, and the door was open. I peered inside, hoping to find her. She was seated at the window, and she held a white blossom."

"Lothmelda?" asked Gilraen.

"Indeed, it is true. Then, of course, I prodded her to tell me about it, but she was as silent as – as you are now, brother. Why do you not talk? Is it not fascinating?"

Eldarion cleared his throat. Gilraen eyed him with suspicion, though Luthien was oblivious to the sensitivity of the question she had just asked.

"Yes, fascinating," he replied in a cracked voice.

Luthien was appeased. She turned back to her sister, but Gilraen continued to watch her brother.

"She will not wear it, you know. She put it in a vase in her window. I asked her why in Valinor she does not wear the thing, but she said she cannot until she is certain who left it for her. I dearly hope she finds out soon, for it is such a shame to be loved and not know who to love in return."

"Quite a predicament, indeed," Gilraen replied. She looked again at Eldarion, but he seemed engrossed in his reading. Except for that tell-tale quivering of his hands she would have dropped her curiosity. But as his hands did quake, she felt she knew the answer to the riddle. Wisely she kept her thoughts to herself.

As soon as Luthien left them Eldarion rose and said he must leave as well. Gilraen bid him good-night, and then he left in a preoccupied hurry. She smiled to herself.

Eldarion approached the steward's wing once more. This time he bypassed Theodwyn's door, and walked instead to the door of her father's study. He was resolved to continue on the road he had begun to tread. He realized that he could not first go to Theodwyn, he must follow protocol and speak with her father.

A steady gleam of yellow light slipped from below the door, indicating that he was inside. Eldarion's head throbbed with a million doubts and reasons to turn away and hide in his room. His heart hurt the inside of his chest, and his hands became cold and sweaty. He rubbed them together and tapped his teeth nervously.

He never remembered how long he stood there in the silent hall; it was dark and fear sent tingles up and down his spine. At long last, when he felt near exploding or crying aloud or retreating in shame, he raised his fist and knocked on the door.

What he does remember is that when he knocked, Barahir opened the door and greeted him with a smile and warm hand on the shoulder.

"My lord king! How good of you to come see me. Come in, come in."

Eldarion walked into the well-lit room, and the door closed behind him. Now there could be no turning back.

* * *

_Dear readers,_

_Wow, it's been so long since I last updated. I'm sorry! I've been swamped with college classes, new people, new food, new surroundings, new everything... I just haven't had any time for my writing. –sigh-- Even now I should be working on an essay and studying for a midterm in theater..._

_But, anyway, here it is at last: The Long-Awaited Chapter Seven! Please read and review! I hope it's okay._

_Thanks for all your encouragement and support! I truly appreciate it! You guys make it all worthwhile!  
_

_--Vané Alasse--_


	8. Awakening the Blossom

_Chapter Eight_  
**Awakening the Blossom**

**

* * *

**

"A successful day, my lord. I anticipate tomorrow will be equally as smooth," said Tirion, son of the steward, as he rose from his seat and gathered his cloak and various papers.

Eldarion nodded. "Relations with Dol Amroth and Rohan remain strong, and thankfully the treaties with the peoples of Haran still hold firm. It is comforting to know our alliances endure."

"And to know the extended kingdom abroad is yet the power greatest in all Middle-earth."

"Let us not boast, for pride has devastating consequences."

Tirion smiled. Eldarion's voice always sounded so imposing when echoing against the pillared stone walls of the throne room. Just now it had fallen to a deep whisper, as if he were afraid those who deal out the "devastating consequences" would overhear the conversation.

"Of course, Lord King. I will retire now. May the stars shine for you this night," Tirion said, bowing and turning to leave.

"And for you," Eldarion replied.

He watched the last of the men his advisors, friends, and fellow royalty leave the hall. When the last had said their farewells and the room was silent and empty, Eldarion rose from the dais. He put his cape over his shoulders and fastened the eagle clasp in place. Then he walked to the cabinet by the wall, and lifted the crown from his head. He placed it and the scepter inside the cabinet, and closed the door. He breathed a small sigh of thankfulness for another day of court completed, and another day of peace secured for his country. For while his subjects might live day to day in careless bliss, he knew trouble still lurked in shadows and the remnants of evil yet held to the frayed edges of their cause. But today had gone well, tomorrow looked promising, and as the evening approached Eldarion allowed his thoughts to take other paths.

* * *

Night had draped a gentle cloak across the sky, and in it tiny jewels glittered. The air was sleepy and soft, but the breeze fluttered with little swirls of excitement. Eldarion walked slowly to the foot of the Tower of Ecthelion, and began to ascend its pearly white stairs. Half way to the top he stopped.

A young woman stood at the railing, her golden hair rippling behind her, and her dress trailing on the steps. Her eyes searched the vast expanse of evening, yet as she heard his footsteps she turned.

"You were not in the garden," he said softly. "Nor the library. Nor on the balcony."

She took a step backwards as he climbed higher.

"I had almost given up hope of finding you, but then I remembered this place," he said.

She did not answer. Her face was difficult to read in the shadows, but he could see confusion in her eyes. He did not understand it.

"But why have you stopped here? Will you walk to the top with me?" he asked.

He led the way up the stairs, and she followed slowly.

Now at the highest point of the tower they stood still and silently looked over the land far beneath their feet. But Eldarion found the countryside less engaging than lovely woman at his side.

"Where is your lothmelda?" he asked.

She trembled.

"It is waiting to bloom," she answered, her eyes attempting to avert his gaze.

At first he smiled merely because she had spoken, and he noted again how sweet her voice was. But then her words sounded again in his mind, and their meaning perplexed him.

"But it has already bloomed," he replied.

"Yes," she answered softly. "Yet it is afraid to reveal its true form."

"I know it is very beautiful."

"No, it is shy. It is hidden behind the shelter of a locked door."

He stepped closer to her, and now she looked into his eyes.

"May I find the key?" he asked gently.

"The key is lost," she said, and suddenly turned away from him.

"Why?" He walked up behind her, and placed his hand on her shoulder.

She stepped away.

"You have changed, my liege," she whispered.

Her words stung.

"My liege?" he asked. "What is this you call me?"

"It is your title, lord," she answered.

"My title? From other's mouths, perhaps. But not from you."

"I am no different. I remain the daughter of the steward, nothing more. Why should I have any right to forgo reverence due to you, my king?"

"Is it because I am king now?"

He walked around her to see her face.

"Is that what you mean?"

She nodded.

"How has that changed me?"

"I am not in a position to answer, lord," she replied.

"Please tell me," he said. "Tell me, Wenny."

At the use of her pet name she faltered. Her eyes lost their mask for a moment and betrayed emotions she was struggling so strongly to suppress.

"I am nothing now. Before, I …"

"Wenny?" he interrupted. "Nothing has changed."

"But it has!" she exclaimed.

"No, no. Nothing has changed. I am still the same. You are still the same."

"You have a position now, a kingdom, much responsibility. You have everything."

"Not everything," he said, looking pained.

He paused.

Slowly he unclasped the eagle pin at his shoulder, letting it and the cape drop to the floor. He picked them up, carried them to the edge of the tower, and let them fall. Theodwyn gasped sharply as she watched the fabric flutter down, down, down to the ground far below. Eldarion also watched them fall, and then turned again to face Theodwyn.

"It is a covering, Theodwyn. My cloak is like my title and my position. It is not me. It is not even a part of me. It can be forsaken almost as easily. And it can hide my heart. I will not forsake my kingdom, but neither will I suffer forever hidden beneath a cloak I inherited. Titles are bestowed, love is earned. I love you, Wenny. You earned my respect; you earned my love. Please, do not ask me to throw it away."

She had tears running down her cheeks. From behind the watery glaze, a flicker of passion glowed in her beautiful eyes. He walked to her and took her delicate hands in his.

"Why do you weep?"

She could not answer. Her chin trembled.

"I love you, dearest. Do not cry."

He kissed her forehead.

She smiled. He looked into her eyes, and she looked into his. They understood one another. He drew her into his arms and held her. She let her head fall onto his shoulder.

"I will always love you, my Wenny. My _vanimelda_."

She smiled at the lovely name he called her. "You are silly, Eldarion."

He pulled away so he could look at her face. She smiled. He held both her hands in one of his, and with his free hand he wiped the traces of tears from her face.

"How am I silly, _melda-nin_?" he asked.

She giggled.

"You copy your father even in his manner of courtship."

He pretended to look aghast.

"How so?"

"He called your mother _vanimelda_."

"And so she was, but you are my beautiful love, my beauty of the stars."

"Am I?"

"Aren't you?"

"I should hope so."

"For all time?"

"Would you like that?"

"Yes."

"So would I."

They stood for a moment, silent and so happy.

Then he spoke again, "Have I found the key?"

"No."

He looked confused.

"You have woken the blossom to full bloom."

She laughed gently.

And he gathered her into his arms again, and kissed her.

* * *

_**Author Note:** Thanks to my all my reviewers. You're awesome. Here's the newest chapter, which for some reason was really easy to write… I hope it turned out okay. It didn't quite capture what I wanted it to…but maybe most of it will come across. Please continue to review, even if you have a correction/suggestion. Vane Alasse_

**Elvish translations:**

_vanimelda_ – could be either "beautiful love" or "beauty of the stars" (i.e. _vani-melda_ – beauty-love or _vanim-elda _– beauty-stars)

_melda-nin_ – my love

**Replies to Reviewer Questions:**

_Lossenrhos:_  
Q.) I loved the custom of the white flower (did you make that up?) A.) Yes. :) I thought it was pretty cool, too. Thanks! 

Q.) Have you had anything published? I think you ought to. You really know how to write.

A.) Thanks. :) Well, I published myself in a student newspaper for a few years, but that doesn't really count. I have had three poems really published, though. That was really exciting for me, because I hope to be a published author someday.

_Dixieland Delight:_

Q.) What Rings genealogy are you referring to? Just curious.

A.) It's called "The Languages of Tolkien's Middle-earth; A complete guide to all fourteen of the languages Tolkien invented." It was written by Ruth S. Noel, and is a small book with a red cover. It's a great resource for fanfiction writers, and Tolkien enthusiasts. It isn't just a dictionary, though. It also has a very detailed geneology and tells how to use the elvish script. Thanks for asking:) Sometimes I forget to clarify myself...

_Iluvien:_

Q.) How old are Eldarion and Theodwyn? Wouldn't he live much longer than her?

A.) Umm... You're right. He would live much longer than she would, and that will be discussed in a later chapter (if I keep writing...). Eldarion is probably pretty old (late 40s), while Theodwyn is in her late teen or early twenties. But the difference wouldn't seem that vast considering Eldarion will probably live to be 200+. He's got the youth of both the Numenorians and the Eldar on his side, so he might look and act only late-20s or early-30s. It might seem strange to pair up two people who are so vastly different in actual age, but think about Arwen and Aragorn: she was 2,690 years older than him! That was a good question. Thanks:)

**P.S.**  
I have updated the last chapters that needed it. Sorry about any confusions with the names of Steward Barahir's children. They are: Tirion, Thalion, and Theodwyn. No, I didn't make them all "t" names on purpose…it just kinda happened that way. 

**Character Name Translations:**

Eldarion – son of elves

Telcontar (Eldarion's title) – literally "high stem." Means "royal," also "Strider."

Theodwyn – delight of the people

Tirion – one who watches

Thalion – steadfast, strong


	9. Understanding Duty

_Chapter Nine_  
**Understanding Duty**  
_By Vane Alasse_

_

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_

"There was a time," he said, "when I imagined myself as a great warrior. There was a time, growing up in the woods, that I imagined myself as one of the kindred of the elves. There was a time when I imagined myself married to a beautiful woman. But never, not even in my wildest ponderings, did I imagine myself as the father of the Queen of the Free Lands."

The steward smiled and held his daughter close to him.

"And so," he continued, "I have never thought to prepare for the shock or the honor or the pleasure which this position in life would give me."

Theodwyn giggled softly and with contentment as her father wrapped his arms tighter around her waist.

"But," he said while smiling mysteriously, "I believe I have finally thought of a way to express my excitement for you. Come with me."

Together father and daughter rose from where they sat in the couch and left the room. The steward led the way down the hall, up a stairway, through a passage of doors with creaking hinges, until they had arrived in a circular room roofed with ornate glass stained in many brilliant colors. The walls themselves had no windows, but from the ceiling fell the warm, rosy light of filtered sunshine. In the center of the room sat an ancient chest.

Barahir advanced toward this chest. He knelt before it and gingerly brushed the dust from its intricately carved lid. He pulled a key from a chain around his neck and placed it into the golden lock. In the intense silence Theodwyn heard the lock click open. He lifted the lid. Gently he pulled out some sort of fabric which seemed to be very heavy and deep blue. Barahir smiled at his daughter.

"Come here," he said in a low voice.

She came, and when she stood before him Barahir walked around behind her and placed the fabric over her shoulders. A spark of excitement sprang up her back, and she felt as if the folds of blue which now cascaded all around her were filled with wisdom and courage and dignity. She fingered the edges which fell at her sides with interest, noting now that it was not merely blue fabric, but blue with threads of glittering silver and tiny sparkling jewels arranged skillfully in a beautiful pattern.

"What is it?" she breathed.

Her father walked around to face her, and looked at her with the face of a man who is so indescribably pleased and amazed that he is not sure which reaction to chose.

"Don't you know?" he answered, but did not wait for her reply. "It belonged to your great-grandmother, the Lady Éowyn of Rohan. The Lord Faramir gave it to her as a gift during their courtship while they were recovering from the Battle of Pelannor Fields. She wore it during her position as the Lady of Ithilien, but before her it belonged to Faramir's own mother: Finduilas of Dol Amroth who became the Stewardess of Gondor."

And now Theodwyn's face flushed and her hands tingled as she ran them against the lush material. She knew this was the Blue Cloak which she had heard of only in stories, and she felt so overcome with emotions that she could merely manage to smile softly.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Her father smiled, and pulled her into a gentle embrace. He kissed her forehead.

"You may be a queen," he murmured, "but you will always be my little girl."

* * *

"A dinner party? Of course! How exquisite!" 

"You see, Gilrean, I told you I had a wealth of brilliant ideas," sang Luthien.

"Brilliant indeed. It's positively radiant!"

"And the ceremony must be in the evening, so the sun will set and the stars will begin to shine. Imagine it: a blue horizon filled with tiny sparkling stars," Luthien continued.

"A wedding at night?" Celebrian questioned.

"Of course not, Clebby. Aren't you listening? In the early evening or late afternoon. The party is to be held in the twilight. Even I wouldn't think of having a wedding at night; how absurd."

Celebrian sighed, but made a few notes in the book she was using to make plans for the upcoming wedding of her brother. The four children of Aragron and Arwen were assembled on the balcony of the palace this evening to discuss the preparations which needed to take place for the grand occasion.

"Alright," said Gilraen, "what other ideas was your little mind so busy playing with?"

"Lights. We must have many twinkling lights. Candles everywhere. Very elven, you know. And banners. Silken scarves draped tastefully."

"You talk as though they were edible," muttered Celebrian.

"Clebby!" said the younger sisters together in exasperation.

"But I'm writing it all down!" said Celebrian, showing them the paper. Her eyes twinkled at her sisters' romanticism despite her practical struggle for composure.

Suddenly Eldarion sighed, though he had until now been silently and aloofly leaning against the banister while staring distantly into the night.

The sisters looked at him, concerned.

"What ever is the matter, Eldarion?" asked Luthien.

"I'm just frustrated, that is all," he answered.

"About what?" asked Gilraen.

"The whole business. I know nothing about wedding parties or candle-lit dinners. I don't know why you wanted me to be here. I just manage trivial matters, such as encroaching evil or the downfall of the kingdom."

"Well, if sarcasm could kill…" said Celebrian, letting her voice trail into the awkwardness of the growing silence.

A door creaked as Theodwyn stepped out onto the balcony, the blue cloak draped over her shoulders. Luthien ran up to her and grabbed her hands, bouncing ridiculously up and down.

"Oh, Theodwyn, you must hear all the grand plans we have made for your wedding. Of course, you must tell us if you approve, but I'm sure you'll be delighted!"

Theodwyn laughed, and agreed to hear the plans some other time adding, "How giddy you are, Luthien!"

"It's the wine from supper," Celebrian replied knowingly. "Does it to her every time. Come, girls, I think we had best finish inside. It's getting a bit dark out here."

"But it will help the imagination so much to experience the real environment," protested Luthien.

But Gilraen good-naturedly took her arm and followed Celebrian indoors, saying as she glanced at the blue cloak, "How very royal you look tonight, Theodwyn."

The balcony became suddenly very quiet as the girls voices faded into the palace. Theodwyn turned to look at Eldarion, who was leaning against the railing.

"I hope I'm not interrupting," she said timidly.

He shook his head nervously. "No, not at all. You saved me, actually, from a rather painful ordeal."

He gazed at her a moment longer, entranced. Then, suddenly, he collected himself and held out his hand to invite her to stand beside him. She walked forward happily and took his hand.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

"Never when you're here," he answered.

"Why so quiet tonight?"

He shifted his weight. "Gilraen was right. You look like a queen tonight. So very lovely, Theodwyn."

She smiled.

"I'm so glad you have this cloak now. It is a tradition, you know."

She nodded. "My father gave it to me today."

"Perfect timing," he replied.

"Yes, four weeks till the wedding now, isn't it?"

He nodded.

She quietly turned away from him and released his hand.

"It's funny, really, when I think about it."

Eldarion smiled. "What do you mean?"

Theodwyn looked out over the velvety purple landscape as the last tremble of sunlight vanished on the horizon. "I never would have imagined I would be standing here, with you."

"I always did."

"Always? Even when I was such a little girl and I would run and jump on your knee after supper?"

"Well, not quite then. I knew you were very special – you were my favorite little friend – but, granted, you couldn't even say my name properly."

Theodwyn smothered a laugh. "I do remember that. What did I call you?"

"Dawen, if I remember correctly."

"Yes, that was it. And I remember when you would come for visits in Ithilien I would show you my kitten and she would always, without fail, scratch you or bite you. I used to think it was hilarious. You never did understand cats. But later..."

"Later, what?" asked Eldarion, stepping behind her and slipping his arm around her waist. She leaned her head back against his shoulder.

"I don't know. I changed, and I thought you changed, too."

"You grew up, that was all," he said with a low voice.

"All of a sudden you weren't just like a cousin anymore. You were stronger, braver, more confident. You wanted to become something."

"I don't think I ever did, really, Wen. I'm not sure how you could have seen all that."

"Because I understood your heart. I don't know why. I must be a special privilege for people destined to love one another. You were handsome then –"

"But not now?" he interrupted teasingly, looking into her face.

"Of course now. Even more now." Her voice faded into a delicate whisper as she turned her eyes gently away, and Eldarion was satisfied.

"You have always been beautiful, my Wenny. But that isn't why I love you so much."

"Isn't it?"

"The world is full of pretty girls and stunning girls and flashy girls. But that is all they are. Beauty shouldn't be everything, but for them it is. They have never had to work for recognition in life, so they don't try to become anything. But for some wonderful reason you never noticed your own beauty, or perhaps it never mattered to you, and now you have a beautiful character and a beautiful face."

And for the first time, Theodwyn did not counter the compliment, but sighed contentedly as Eldarion leaned down to kiss her cheek.

They stood in silence as the stars began to weave a glittering canopy above their heads. The soft chirping of birds rose and fell in the deepening night, and a silken breeze rippled on the air.

"There is so much to live for," she said faintly.

"Yes, so much. But there will be bad along with the good, melda-nin."

"All the better, then, that I can share my happiness when we pass through good times and run to cry in your arms during the bad."

"And it will be such a pleasure, and not a duty, to catch you when you come to me."

She turned to face him and placed her arms around his neck.

"Duty? Yes, I think it will be a duty. For not always will you be so pleased to see me."

"Oh, but I think I shall."

"What does duty mean to you, Eldarion?"

"I suppose duty rings in my ears with bitterness. It is what I am forced to do. It is everything I cannot avoid. That is duty to me."

"But, don't you see? Duty is pleasure, for it is what you have been chosen to do. You have been chosen to rule your country –"

"Our country," he corrected her.

"Yes, I guess it is, or soon will be," she replied. "But you have been specially gifted with the ability to do your duty. To rule our great nation with confidence and wisdom. To love your wife and, eventually, to be a caring father for your children. To rest in the knowledge that your parents are at peace and to respect their legacy. To be a considerate brother to your sisters and to be concerned for their welfare. To be content in your position. To serve the One who gave you all this, who gave you life itself, who gave you hope for the future and consolation for the past. These are your duties. And I know you will honor them."

Eldarion leaned his head down so their foreheads touched.

"And so happy am I, then, that I may pursue my duty with you beside me. For, I could not have wished for a better friend and better counselor than I have found in you. As you said before, you understand my heart, and I am so blessed for that. I hope that I may understand yours equally as clearly."

"Oh, but I think you do," she whispered, her face slightly blushing.

He smiled in reply, and suddenly the world around them melted into insignificance. She felt her heart beating quicker as brought his hand to the back of her neck and so gently folded her into his embrace. He closed his eyes as their lips met, and they both became lost in the moment.

High above their heads the flag of Gondor unfolded in the gathering breeze, its heavy folds resisting the warm air. Below its base, in the heart of the city, the tomb of Elessar glowed in a shaft of starlight. Far to the north, in a hushed glade, the last flowers of the elves smiled for one final night and the trees murmured to one another. And out of sight, in a palace bedroom lit by fidgety candles, three girls sat on the floor, gossiping of love, of life, and of weddings.

**THE END**

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**Author's Note:**

_Thanks so much at all my readers! I really appreciate all the praise, comments, and constructive criticism. Please continue to tell me what you thought of this story after reading it. I highly value your opinions!_

_So, please review!_


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